


Jimmy

by boxoftheskyking



Series: Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe [25]
Category: Two Two One Bravo Baker Series
Genre: Cullen as a kid, Gen, Kind of angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/pseuds/boxoftheskyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief snapshot of 12-year-old Jimmy Cullen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jimmy

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot about this one. So I'm posting it now. Character belongs to abundantlyqueer.

The summer after he turned twelve, Jimmy decided that he wanted to be an archaeologist. The phase only lasted about six weeks, but that was enough time for it to blow into a full-fledged obsession.

He read a book about archaeologists discovering evidence of an alien civilization buried somewhere in Colombia, and was convinced that he was the man for the job. He could tell an alien relic a mile off. He was sure of it. 

July and August of that year was spent digging around in his mother’s garden, until she finally sprayed him with the hose and took his trowels away. He moved over to Mrs. Thornwood’s garden the next day, because she’d always had a soft spot for him and barely ever left the house anyway. She only had one leg. Jimmy never asked what happened to the other leg, but he kind of hoped he might find bones in the garden. He never did.

After Mrs. Thornwood’s garden was thoroughly destroyed—all data neatly recorded in the back of his maths notebook—he surreptitiously started working in the dirt around his father’s garage. This was the best time, when he had to be secretive about it. This was how archaeology should be, he thought. Sneakily searching for clues to ancient mysteries, avoiding the disapproving eyes of adults. He felt like one of those loose-cannon cops from TV, or James Bond. 

That’s when he started finding things. Weird sandstone blocks, at first, that he couldn’t quite place. Carvings that didn’t make any sense. He started sneaking out at night with a flashlight—one thing about a big family; it’s easy for one kid to slip away. He’d dig and dig, copying down the shapes and patterns and frantically trying to fit pieces together, his heart in his mouth. The days flew by in a blur, and Jimmy went through his daily life as if on another planet. Finally, he decided to tell someone. His brother, Carl, was seventeen and the smartest person Jimmy knew. 

He cornered Carl in the kitchen after dinner that night, both of them trying to avoid their mother’s gaze. If you were the first one caught by Mum after dinner, you were the one who had to do the washing up. Jerry was always the slowest, so he was usually the dishwasher. 

“I have to talk to you,” Jimmy whispered urgently. Carl grinned at him and said, “Okay. I have to talk to you, too.” He led Jimmy upstairs to his bedroom and flung open the door. There, on his desk and scattered around his dresser, were chunks of sandstone covered in scratches. Their dad’s old wood carving tools were neatly arranged at the edge of the desk.

“Like my project?” Carl asked, grinning at him. Jimmy stood, frozen. “Oh, wait, it’s missing the best part.” He crossed to the dresser and picked up a notebook—Jimmy’s notebook. 

“Let’s see,” Carl said, watching Jimmy’s face with delight. “It says ‘Some kind of number system? Question mark.’ And then, ‘Expert opinion needed.’ Good idea there, Jim. Don’t want to get out of your depth—”

Jimmy snatched the notebook out of his hands, shaking with rage.

“You can’t come in my room! Don’t— You can’t go into my room and take my—!”

Carl burst out laughing, bending almost double. “Your face, Jimmy! Your fucking face!  Fucking perfect!”

Jimmy turned bright red and pressed his lips together, tight. He turned on his heel and ran out of the room, out to the back garden. He sat down on the back steps and methodically tore out every page from the notebook, crumpling each one until he had as pile around his feet. He kicked the pile into the middle of the sidewalk, then ran to the garage, returning with lighter fluid and a box of matches. He knelt down on the sidewalk and watched the pages burn to a pile of ashes. He felt much, much better.


End file.
